


Not One Sparrow Falls

by j_s_cavalcante



Category: due South
Genre: Backstory, First Time, M/M, Religion, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-31
Updated: 2010-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-06 21:17:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_s_cavalcante/pseuds/j_s_cavalcante
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Fraser's freakish set of talents proved downright inconvenient. Like now. Fraser wouldn't let the feather issue go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not One Sparrow Falls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lucifuge5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucifuge5/gifts).



 

Ray was doing pretty well at the whole con-job thing until Fraser found the feather.

 

It was just a little feather, a little white feather with a dusting of gold at the very tip, and downy around the quill where it had come out.

 

It wasn’t something you’d think anyone normal would notice, not even most detectives, and once they figured out that the feather didn’t really have anything to do with any crime-type activity, eventually they’d drop it, or at worst stick the feather in their pencil cup and forget all about it.

 

But Fraser? Fraser was not _normal._

 

Fraser was abnormal—or maybe super-normal was a better word. Even though Ray usually tried to throw people off the scent of Fraser’s not-normalness by telling them "he’s Canadian," as though it meant something like "he was raised by wolves and musk ox," that wasn’t the half of it. Fact was, most Canadians were actually pretty normal. Most Canadians didn’t _lick_ evidence to find out what it was—and they wouldn’t get anywhere with that method even if they did. Most Canadians didn’t leap out of moving vehicles or do gymnastics off the tops of tenement buildings, either.

 

Ray might complain a lot about Fraser’s freakishness, but actually he kind of liked that in a guy. It sure made working with him interesting. And it made them friends, because, yeah, Ray was kind of offbeat himself.

 

But sometimes, Fraser’s freakish set of talents proved downright inconvenient.

 

Like now. Fraser wouldn’t let the feather issue go.

 

"It’s a most unusual feather, Ray," Fraser said in his hyper-reasonable voice, the one that was exactly weighted and calculated to drive Ray batshit in twenty seconds flat. He was holding the feather up in his gloved fingers and squinting at the morning sunlight coming through it. The light sort of made the edges glow a little.

 

Ray squinted, too, trying to see if the light looked otherworldly at all. He didn’t think so, but maybe he didn’t know enough to judge.

 

Eventually the sunlight made him sneeze, and he yawned for good measure. "It’s just a feather, Fraser. A feather which does not have anything to do with who took potshots at Father Adamczyk on the steps of St. Stephen’s at 7:30 on a Monday morning."

 

Fraser stared at him like he’d just said Lincoln Town Cars were cooler than GTOs, or something about that level of ridiculous. "We don’t know that for certain," Fraser said. "I don’t think it’s from a local bird, Ray."

 

"It doesn’t matter what kind of bird it was, Fraser, because birds do not shoot people."

 

"Well, that’s true, Ray, but you as a detective should know that any evidence found at the scene of a crime can be material."

 

"Can be. Might not be, Fraser. Detective at the scene has to make that call." That detective was Ray, of course, but Fraser was his partner, and unofficial or no, that was good enough for Ray. If Fraser wanted the thing in evidence it was going in evidence, or Fraser would get to wondering why Ray was making such a big deal out of it.

 

Ray hadn’t decided what to do about that yet.

 

"Are you saying you’re not willing even to consider it?" Fraser asked.

 

"I’m considering it. I’m just not seeing any connection."

 

"I’m not sure there is one, Ray, but the presence of this feather is extremely peculiar. We have not one but two anomalies this morning at St. Stephen’s—the shooting, and this very unusual feather, which isn’t a feather from any bird we would expect to see in Chicago."

 

"We got zoos here in Chicago, Fraser. It’s a big city. We got people who have exotic pets."

 

Fraser shook his head. "It’s not a feather from one of those birds, Ray." Total conviction, as though he _knew, _which he couldn’t have known.

 

"You cannot know that, Fraser. You know a million freakish things, I admit, but even you cannot know every feather from every bird that is or could possibly be in Chicago. Anyway, what could any feather have to do with the crime? Tell me that. So far what we got is, we got the shooting of a priest puttering around the steps of the church in the morning, changing the, um, the marquee there to the current week’s message." Father Adamczyk had spelled out:_ Not one sparrow falls without the Father knowing it_.

 

"A bird-related quotation," Fraser mused.

 

Ray blew out a breath. "That’s your reasoning? The quote was bird related, so the feather is a clue?" He whacked the side of his head like he was clearing water out of his ears.

 

"Oh, that? No, that’s merely an interesting coincidence."

 

Ray gritted his teeth and counted to sixteen to keep a lid on his temper. "Back to the actual case, okay? So far we got the priest, who’s grazed on the arm and shook up, but okay, and we got his report of the guy with the gun. Probably a nutcase," he added, "because really, who’s up at 7:30 who doesn’t have to be?"

 

Fraser shot him a look.

 

"I mean except Mounties," Ray said. "It’s practically a Mountie’s duty to get up at crazy o’clock AM. Anyway, so far we don’t got anybody else at the scene. So since we’re here already, we go knock on some doors and try to flush out an eyewitness, and then after lunch we talk to Father A again, see if there’s anything more coherent he can tell us."

 

"All right," Fraser said, looking thoughtfully over towards the crime-scene crew, who were measuring and taping the sidewalks and digging bullets out of the church door behind where the priest had been standing. "Nevertheless, I think it’s worth cataloguing the feather with the rest of the evidence."

 

"Knock yourself out." Ray shrugged and watched Fraser bag and tag the feather. Ray could make the feather disappear out of Evidence Lockup just like that, but he had a feeling that would only make Fraser more determined than ever to puzzle it out. So he figured he’d better just get on with solving the crime and hope that Fraser would forget the thing eventually.

 

But it looked like "eventually" was going to be some time in coming. Fraser brought up the feather no less than seven times while they pounded the pavement. Ray figured Fraser might even want to ask Father A about it later, and he couldn’t think of a good reason to ask Fraser not to.

 

The priest had been kind of incoherent when they first tried to talk to him; and a couple of burly EMTs had been strapping him onto a gurney and loading him into an ambulance at the time, anyway. The guy was gesticulating with his good arm and smiling like he’d just been told the Pope was coming to Chicago and had chosen St. Stephen’s for a visit, or maybe like he’d...well, Ray didn’t know what could make a priest smile like that, but it had to be something queer. And okay, Ray didn’t understand priests at all, never had, but who _smiled_ when they got shot? Did the old guy actually look forward to meeting his boss that quick?

 

Ray’s Polish wasn’t good enough to understand what the priest was going on about, and for once Fraser couldn’t actually translate a random foreign language on the spot. Hell of a time for Fraser’s encyclopedic knowledge to take a siesta.

 

On the other hand, maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. It depended what the priest was actually saying.

 

They knocked on a lot of doors in a one-block radius around St. Stephen’s in an attempt to find eyewitnesses, but came up empty.

 

"Perhaps no one saw," Fraser said quietly, intently, when they finally got back into the GTO and headed out for lunch. "It was quite early in the morning, yet not so early that a lot of people wouldn’t have left for work already. It’s possible Father Adamczyk was the only one on the block who was up and around at that moment."

 

"Nah, this is Chicago; someone’s always around," Ray said. "We already know about two: the priest and the guy who fired at him."

 

"Three," Fraser said quietly.

 

"Three?" Ray stared at him. How the hell did Fraser do it?

 

"Someone else was present," Fraser said. "Think, Ray. The assailant missed. That is, he missed Father Adamczyk. He fired where he was aiming, though."

 

"Huh?"

 

"Did you have a chance to see the pattern of the bullets in the door? Several of them went right through the place where Father Adamczyk must have been standing in order to place the letters on the marquee. In fact, since he dropped the last letter, the physical evidence corroborates his report."

 

Father A had at least been able to point out the spot where he’d been standing, even though he couldn’t get out a whole sentence in English at the time.

 

"Did you see how many holes?" Fraser persisted.

 

Ray scratched his head, visualized the big wooden door of the church. "Uh. Eight?"

 

"Yes. Where’s the ninth bullet?" Fraser said. "I’m fairly sure the bullets were fired from a gun very like yours, Ray. Which fires nine rounds. Not your gun, of course," Fraser added.

 

"Duh."

 

"And I’d recognize the markings on any bullet from your gun."

 

Ray almost hit a hydrant. He swerved away just in time. Gripped the wheel tighter, drove steadier, and tried to breathe calmly. "Sorry. I don’t know why the information that you can _identify the bullets from my gun on sight _should surprise me, considering you also know every bird that is or should be in Chicago. You’re a freak."

 

"I suppose so." Out of the corner of his eye, Ray saw Fraser’s chin drop down to touch his chest.

 

"Hey," Ray said. "Maybe I like freaks."

 

Fraser’s head came up. "I hope so, Ray."

 

Ray shot him a smile, but there wasn’t time to do more than catch Fraser’s eye for a second, because he had to watch the road. Fire hydrants were everywhere, and so were innocent pedestrians.

 

"So how do we know he emptied the gun?" Ray said.

 

"Well, we don’t, but he certainly seemed quite thorough and determined."

 

"Maybe the missing one is the one that hit the priest?" Ray suggested. "Grazing his arm could have altered the tra—the traj—you know."

 

"The trajectory. Yes, I suppose so, but that bullet was found. I believe it carried some fibers from Father Adamczyk’s sleeve with it."

 

"How the hell could you see that?"

 

Fraser patted the pouch on his belt. "Magnifying glass. At any rate, considering the angle, that has to have been the bullet that grazed the victim."

 

Ray sighed. _Partners,_ he reminded himself. Fraser had freakish superpowers, and Ray was just going to have to deal.

 

He spun a finger in the air. "So where were we? How does the number of bullets tell you there was a witness?"

 

"Did I say ‘witness’?" Fraser said, probably knowing full well he hadn’t. "I should have said there was a third participant."

 

"An accomplice?"

 

"Oh, no," Fraser said. "A hero."

 

The only reason a hydrant didn’t buy it right there was that Ray was stopped at a light at the moment, and about a hundred fifty people were crossing the street. He swallowed hard and met Fraser’s eyes. He had no idea what Fraser was seeing on his face. "Hero?"

 

"Someone," Fraser said, "stepped in the way of the ninth bullet, Ray. The one that would have gone through Father Adamczyk’s heart."

 

Ray recovered enough to point a couple of fingers in Fraser’s direction, stabbing the air like it could prove his point. "See, this is what I’m talking about, Fraser. You cannot know that. Nobody can possibly know a thing like that."

 

Fraser’s shoulders lifted very slightly, probably as much of a shrug as the red serge straitjacket would allow. "Well, I can, Ray."

 

"I do not get that, Fraser. I do not get how you can make a claim like that."

 

"The bullet pattern," Fraser said. "Doesn’t it remind you of something, Ray?"

 

"Yeah, that crazy people and guns do not mix."

 

"Besides that," Fraser said. "Have you ever seen a knife-throwing performance? At a circus, for instance?"

 

"I hate the circus," Ray said. Then he sighed. "Okay, so. I see what you’re saying." Bullets had hit on both sides of where the priest had been standing. If you squinted, they maybe drew a little outline around his head and shoulders. An even number, four on each side, and the only one that was slightly off the neat outline was the one Fraser said had grazed the priest’s shoulder. Which, the priest had probably moved at the last second, and that was why it hit him at all, because it was pretty clear that the gunman who fired all the other shots wouldn’t have been that sloppy.

 

So where would the ninth bullet have gone, if the shooter was that neat and precise? The heart, yeah. If you believed Fraser’s entire airy-fairy reconstruction here, it would have been the heart.

 

And airy-fairy didn’t mean it wasn’t true, after all. Loony Tunes, yeah, but also true.

 

"Unless Father Adamczyk somehow got out of the way in time," Fraser said. "Which in itself would have been remarkable, considering the assailant was only ten paces away and Father Adamczyk is not terribly spry anymore."

 

Understatement. The guy was small and birdlike himself, and when they’d seen him in the ambulance, he looked almost as white as the sheet, which made a weird contrast with that big freakish smile on his face.

 

"Except the only place to go would have been straight toward the gunman, or otherwise we’d have the ninth bullet in the door somewhere," Fraser said.

 

"Okay," Ray said finally. "Okay, suppose I go with you on this. You stacked up like four hypotheticals in there, but I am going with you on this because you are my partner. So where do you think we’ll find our witness guy or hero guy or whoever? Because we have no footprints, we have no blood, we have no physical evidence between Father A and the shooter."

 

"We have the feather," Fraser said. "It was found approximately 16 inches in front of the place where Father Adamczyk was standing."

 

And, yeah, okay. He really, really wasn’t going to let the feather go.

 

"So a bird got in the way?"

 

"Not a bird’s feather, Ray."

 

"You are making my head hurt," Ray said. "It has been three hours since I had any coffee, and now I am so hungry I could eat your big hat. And thank God, we are here." And there was even a parking space, just a few doors down from the Icarus diner.

 

Ray had the souvlaki and about fourteen little diner-sized cups of coffee. Fraser had tomato soup and grilled cheese, which made Ray smile and took his mind off heavier stuff for a while.

 

 

After lunch, they checked on Father Adamczyk at Cook County Hospital. He was small and frail, really old, with a deeply lined face and kind eyes that had once been blue but now were faded as pale as water. His smile was a lot more normal now, and he seemed a lot calmer, and Ray realized he was an okay guy, which of course he had to be. Had to be better than an okay guy, considering.

 

It wasn’t fair that the gunman had chosen that poor old guy to hassle, and apparently somebody else thought so, too, because, like Fraser said, there was no way the gunman would have missed.

 

Father A had a real thick accent, but his English had improved a lot by the time they sat down at his bedside to talk to him at the hospital. The doctors were keeping him overnight for observation even though the wound wasn’t serious, because of how incoherent he’d been when he came in. Ray figured they wanted to make sure the priest hadn’t had some kind of heart attack or stroke or demented thing, because he maybe had said some stuff that doctors would have a hard time believing.

 

By the time Ray and Fraser sat down next to him and asked him some more questions, he’d apparently figured out what stuff was okay to say and what stuff had a fair chance of getting him an all-expenses-paid vacation in the hotel with the rubber walls.

 

"Of course someone else was there," he said when Fraser asked about his mystery third person. "The Lord is always with us. The Lord protected me. Put your trust in the Lord, my son."

 

"But the Lord didn’t get hit by a bullet," Fraser said.

 

"Well of course not," the priest said, giving Fraser a funny look like maybe he wondered whether Fraser was all there.

 

"And you don’t remember seeing anybody else?" Fraser said gently. "No one at all?"

 

Father Adamczyk gave him another long look, like he was calculating how much he could say. He glanced at Ray, too, with a kind of thoughtful expression, then he looked back at Fraser. "Wings," he whispered finally. "Something very bright. I think it was an angel of the Lord."

 

Fraser swallowed very hard. "It does sound like it," he said. And instead of looking relieved, like he would if a mystery was solved, or happy, like if he believed in angels and had discovered one really did save a nice old priest guy, he looked...some other way. Ray couldn’t decide whether he looked sad or scared or maybe a little of both.

 

And that made Ray’s throat hurt, and he had to look away.

 

Father Adamczyk raised one bony little hand and patted the edge of Fraser’s sleeve. "Don’t worry, son. Whatever it is, you can bring your troubles to the Lord."

 

"Ah," Fraser said. "Thank you, Father. Er...could you tell us more about the shooter?"

 

Pretty obvious way to change the subject, Ray thought, but actually it worked, and the priest remembered some stuff. He managed to give them a description, for one thing. White guy, medium height and skinny, with long dark hair, dark eyes, thin face, kind of wild looking. Taking careful aim, bang-bang-bang-bang, bang-bang-bang-bang, just like Fraser said, and then taking aim one more time, point-blank at Father A’s heart, and shouting something like "I am Jesus Christ." The priest crossed himself when he said that. "A troubled soul," he added. "You’ll find him, but you’ll have to take him to a hospital instead of a jail."

 

"Yeah, sounds like it," Ray said. He tried to bring the investigation back down to Earth. "But that was some pretty precise shooting, which seems kind of odd for a junkie or something. So you don’t know of anybody who’d want you...out of the way, or whatever? You’ve had no run-ins with mob guys or nothing?"

 

Father A shook his head. "Nothing like that." He paused and looked kind of intently at Ray. "The Lord gives us all our challenges. Perhaps that young man also needed to see an angel this morning."

 

Ray sighed. Apparently he was just not getting off the hook here, with anyone. "So you believe the shooter saw it, too, then?"

 

"Oh, yes. In fact, he fell to his knees. He dropped the gun. But then he recovered, picked it up, and ran."

 

"And the angel?" Fraser said.

 

The priest shook his head. "I don’t know. I was slightly injured, as you see. And the angel...was gone, and I got inside the church, into the sacristy, and phoned for help."

 

That was all the priest could tell them, so they left, but not before he’d put his frail hand up toward both of them and said a blessing. Ray looked back over his shoulder and smiled at him just before going out the door, because really that was kind of cool of the guy, considering Fraser wasn’t Catholic and Ray pretty much stayed away from churches except on official business.

 

Father A smiled back at him, almost like he _knew_, which Ray was pretty sure he didn’t, but it probably didn’t matter either way. It wasn’t like he’d be believed by anybody who could make any trouble about it.

 

Fraser, though, Fraser was not smiling. Outside the hospital, at the exit to the parking garage, Fraser was holding his hat in his hand and looking kind of lost. People were shouldering past him, and he didn’t seem to notice them, like they weren’t even there. The guy who could carve a sextant out of whale bone and find his way across a barren tundra by the position of the stars was looking _lost._

 

Maybe abandoned was a better word.

 

That tore a hole in Ray’s heart faster than any bullet could have. "Look, Frase," he started to say, but Fraser stopped him by whipping his head up and staring at him hard, his eyes brimming.

 

"What haven’t you told me, Ray?" he said in a ragged voice that hurt Ray’s ears to hear. "I thought partners meant sharing."

 

Ray actually staggered back two steps, because how the hell did Fraser do it?

 

He swallowed hard. "Uh, Frase. There’s stuff that can be shared and there’s stuff that can’t."

 

"You mean you _won’t."_

Ray shook his head, feeling desperate. "I mean _can’t._ Partners does mean sharing, Fraser. You know how I feel about that."

 

"When it comes to _my_ sharing things, I do."

 

Ray put his face in his hand for a minute, then slapped his forehead with the flat of his hand, trying to clear his head. _Give me a sign,_ he pleaded silently. _Please, tell me how to solve this. _Because he couldn’t help Fraser if they weren’t together on this. They were a duet.

 

"Why were you so adamant that I ignore the feather?" Fraser said.

 

Ray put his hand over the pit of his stomach, trying to feel for an answer. He had to go on his gut pretty much all the time, and this was important. This was _crucial. _Because he didn’t know who he would be without Fraser, and Fraser might walk when he heard everything.

Ray didn’t even know whether he was going to be allowed to tell everything, or whether he’d just...he didn’t know, dissolve in a shower of sparkles or something. Maybe something much worse.

 

But he could read the look in Fraser’s eyes, feel his anger—no, worse, his despair. Fraser was ready to have it out here and now, and if what he heard spooked him or worse, made him not trust Ray, then that really would be the end.

 

So they had to talk now; okay, Ray got that. But not in the hospital parking garage. He grabbed Fraser’s hand. "Not here," he said. "I’ll tell you everything I can, but not here."

 

Fraser looked down pointedly at Ray’s hand gripping his. Ray held on anyway. "Come on, Fraser, it never bothered you before."

 

Fraser sighed, lifted an eyebrow, and looked at his feet.

 

"You are _not_ having an attack of ‘straighter than thou’ at this moment, Fraser, tell me it’s not that."

 

Fraser made a sound that wasn’t exactly a chuckle, but that was maybe acknowledging there was a joke in there somewhere and he got it. "Never that, Ray," he said in a wry voice, and that was good, that was something. That was something they’d never really talked about before, but that had always been there in potential, and Ray hadn’t felt he had the right to make a move, considering. He didn’t know whether he had extra influence or whether it was all right to speak first.

 

He wasn’t really sure whether he’d just done that, but his gut never steered him wrong, and it was telling him Fraser was with him in this, at least. Probably always had been.

 

Ray laced his fingers together with Fraser’s and looked him in the eye. Fraser’s hand squeezed his briefly.

 

Someone nearby made what sounded like a polite cough, which wasn’t in the least polite _at all_, seeing as it was a freaking _comment_ on what Ray was doing. Ray would have glared at them, except he didn’t fucking care what they thought. He was having a moment, here. Maybe the last one he’d have with Fraser, if Fraser didn’t like the explanation he was about to try to give him.

 

Ray swallowed. "Uh, there’s people around. And I ain’t in the least ashamed, Fraser, but we are working, and..."

 

"Yes," Fraser said. "And we are police partners."

 

"I ain’t saying it can’t happen. Just can’t happen here, not if I want to keep my job."

 

"Yes, of course."

 

Ray let go Fraser’s hand, reluctantly, and looked at his watch. "I can clock out now," he said. "I’ll call in and let Welsh know. He’ll be happy, actually. I put in a 12-hour shift the other day, and he don’t want to have to pay me overtime. You?"

 

"I’m at your disposal," Fraser said. "I had the day off."

 

Which was just more evidence of how not-normal Fraser was, but Ray was grateful. Fraser could be doing anything he wanted today, and he was spending it being partners with Ray.

 

Ray felt hope uncurl in his gut like wings unfolding.

 

 

So Ray called the station and clocked out, and they got in the car and drove to Ray’s apartment. Fraser sat next to him silently, his hat in his hand, but he didn’t seem too uncomfortable, and halfway there he put his free hand on Ray’s leg and left it there. Ray put his hand down on top of Fraser’s and squeezed briefly to tell him it was okay, it was good, and then he moved his hand back to the steering wheel, because Fraser’s hand was distracting enough.

 

When they got to the apartment, Ray tossed down his keys and locked the door, and asked Fraser if he wanted a glass of water or something. Fraser shook his head.

 

"Okay," Ray said, and he shrugged out of his jacket and flung it on a chair. Then he took off his shirt and sent it sailing after the jacket.

 

Fraser blinked, surprised.

 

Ray undid his belt.

 

"Er, Ray. I didn’t mean. Well, actually I did, but I thought we might, er. Ah, don’t you think we should take this a bit more...?"

 

Ray held up a hand. "Sorry. It’s not what you think. _That_ we will take slow, okay? This, this is just the answer to your questions. I think I’m gonna be allowed to show you. So just, um, kind of hold on to your hat, there, and don’t, uh, faint or nothing."

 

"All right," Fraser said. He didn’t look the least bit faint. Ray figured there were some advantages to being a freak.

 

He took a deep breath and unbuttoned his jeans, kicked off his boots, and shucked everything off—jeans, underwear, socks—and then he was naked.

 

Fraser looked startled and maybe even a little pink, but Ray figured it didn’t matter; he’d be clothed in light in a moment.

 

He closed his eyes and concentrated.

 

He felt it happen. It was like an electrical tingling all over, except it was pleasant, not like real electricity, but soft and vibrant and life-giving. He opened his eyes. The inside of his apartment had a kind of glow about it now, and so did everything in it, including Fraser. Ray knew it was coming from him, that he was kind of shining on everything around him. He tried to tone it down a little, but he didn’t spend much time in this state, so he didn’t have a lot of practice. Maybe now that Fraser knew, Ray’d have more of a chance to work on some technique.

 

Ray took another big breath of air and felt the strength come into him, strength that he needed, because, yeah, there it was, the extra weight on his shoulders, the extra muscles and the movement, all of it. He rolled his shoulders a little, cracked his neck, and then stretched his wings out carefully, making some little gusts of air around him.

 

He couldn’t get them fully extended in here, of course, or he’d risk doing to his own breakables what he’d done to his mom’s favorite antique lamp twenty years ago.

 

He saw Fraser’s hair ruffle a little in the breeze from his wings. "Uh, sorry."

 

Fraser wasn’t half paying attention to what he said. His eyes were wide and blue. But he stood his ground, which was something. That was something.

 

"Oh, my goodness," Fraser finally said. "Ray."

 

Then his face just sort of...closed and his jaw clenched, and a wave of sadness passed over his face.

Ray’s wings drooped immediately. He took two steps toward Fraser and then he stopped short, because he didn’t want to spook him. Instead he held out his arms, offering. "Frase, don’t be sad."

 

"How can I not? I’m losing my partner."

 

Ray shook his head so hard his brains rattled. "No! I promise you you’re not. Not unless you reject me."

 

"Is that permitted?" Fraser asked in a choked-off voice. "Isn’t there only one acceptable answer to an angel of the Lord?"

 

"No!" Ray said. "You got free will, Fraser. So do I. You do not have to be my partner or stay my partner. That is a matter of choice, and there’s no strings either way. I might have a preference, but it’s totally your choice."

 

"And yours?"

 

"Yes!"

 

"And your preference is?"

 

"I love you, Fraser. I have from Day One. I want us to continue to be partners, to be a duet, to be...more. But you’ve got to want it too, or it’s no good."

 

"Yet you’ve been hiding this from me," Fraser said.

 

"I’m sorry. It wasn’t my choice. I told you I was a con job; I told you. I couldn’t say any more than that. We’re not usually allowed to tell anybody at all. You’re, um...it looks like you got some kind of special dispens—you know."

 

"Dispensation?" Fraser said.

 

"Yeah, that’s it."

 

Fraser looked thoughtful. "You still have trouble with words, even as an angel?"

 

Ray nodded. "Yeah. Sorry. I realize I’m not what the stories teach people to expect. I still need my glasses to see good, except, you know, at moments when I got a job, like the job this morning at St. Stephen’s."

 

Fraser started, and took a halting step toward Ray. He lifted his hand. "Er. May I—?"

 

"Sure," Ray said.

 

Fraser moved around to look at Ray’s left wing. He reached out and touched it very, very lightly.

 

Ray flinched, and Fraser pulled his hand away like he’d been stung.

 

"No, it’s okay," Ray said. "It just tickles when you do it that light. Go ahead. Touch it harder." Then he heard himself, and he kind of blushed.

 

Fraser looked up, and he blushed, too. "Oh, dear."

 

Ray laughed softly. "We _will _get to that. If you want to."

 

"Can we?"

 

"Would I be making the offer if we couldn’t?"

 

"How do angels...?"

 

"Just like other people, except the wings are optional. Jeez, is there a question you _don’t_ have?"

 

"Probably not," Fraser said. "Why do you swear?"

 

"Because I’m _me_," Ray said. "I’m the Ray you know. You didn’t know a few things about me, but...come on, you knew there were things you didn’t know. You know?"

 

Fraser scrunched up his face a little at that, and Ray didn’t blame him.

 

"Look, you didn’t know for sure that I’d want to, uh..." He waved his hand. "Get with you. The way I want to get with you." He was kind of pink. Which, considering he was standing there naked and with _wings, _it was pretty funny that he’d be feeling pink about what he just said.

 

"About that, I at least had an inkling. And a lot of hope."

 

That made Ray smile. "Yeah?"

 

"Oh, yes, Ray. I love you also. As you well know."

 

That made Ray _glow, _which, since he was all feathered out at the moment, was literal. He saw Fraser squint, and he tried to tone it down more. "Sorry, I don’t got perfect control of any of this stuff except for those special moments when I get called to do something specific like save Father Adamczyk. The rest of the time I have to, uh, wing it."

 

Fraser smiled at that. He looked back at Ray’s left wing. "Speaking of which, I was trying to see where the bullet hit you. Where the feather came out."

 

"Oh," Ray said. "Yeah, it’s there. He spread his primaries, showed Fraser the wound.

 

"Does it hurt?"

 

"Nah," Ray said. "It did when it happened, but my angel body heals fast. I keep trying to teach that trick to my regular body. That would come in handy."

 

Fraser counted the primaries softly. "I _knew_ it wasn’t from a bird," he said. "See, you have eleven. Birds have ten." He looked back up at Ray. "Do you need the missing feather back?"

 

"Nah, a new one’ll grow."

 

"And the one in Evidence?"

 

"Will accidentally disappear," Ray said. "It’s not part of the case, anyway."

 

"It most certainly is," Fraser said.

 

"Not the case I’m building," Ray said.

 

"So angels lie?" Fraser said.

 

"Oh, I’m sorry, Frase," Ray said. "It’s not that cut and dried. There’s some things that people get to know and there’s some things they’re not ready for. If we don’t tell little kids the gory details of some things, like sex and violence, for instance, are we lying to them?"

 

"Oh," Fraser said. "Are we children, then?"

 

Ray shrugged. "Not you, Fraser. You are a freak like me." He smiled. "Which must be why I got permission to tell you all this stuff."

 

Fraser let go of his wing. "I suppose I should admit to feeling a sense of irony at the revelation that the person who calls me a freak most regularly is in fact a supernatural being."

 

"I like freaks, Fraser."

 

"So you’ve said. Now I see why."

 

"Nah," Ray said. "This is pretty showy, I admit, but most of the time I’m just a regular guy."

 

"Regular guy." Fraser snorted.

 

"What’s that, what is that? Is that sarcasm, Fraser?"

 

"Ah," Fraser said. "Possibly. It’s just...you’re asking me to believe two mutually exclusive things. One, that you’re an angel—which at the moment appears rather inescapable, unless I have totally misplaced my entire bag of marbles. And two, that you’re an ordinary person."

 

"Yeah, so?"

 

"Who happens to be an angel."

 

"Look, I am—I _was,_ anyway. I just got...deputized," Ray said, mumbling a little.

 

_"Deputized?_ Is the Almighty a sheriff?" Fraser had his mocking, incredulous voice going strong. It went up a whole register when he did that, and it didn’t even sound foolish like other guys did when that happened.

 

"I don’t think so!" Ray snapped back. Then he sighed hard and slapped his palms against his thighs. "Look, most of the time I really am a regular guy. I don’t always know when the angel stuff is going to kick in."

 

"That’s very odd."

 

"Really? You know a lot of angels, Fraser?"

 

"Well, no. At least I don’t think I do."         




 

"I got deputized," Ray said. "I don’t know how else to explain it. I was ten. I heard my name called. There was this light..."

 

"Oh," Fraser said. "Your ‘alien abduction’?"

 

Ray nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, that was it. How does a ten-year-old explain what he’s doing in the middle of the lawn in his footie pajamas at 3 AM? I didn’t even know. So I told my parents it was maybe aliens. What did they know? None of us knew nothing. They just thought I made something up so I wouldn’t get in trouble. My dad almost thrashed me, but...something stopped him."

 

"Hm," Fraser said thoughtfully.

 

"Yeah, maybe someone like me, I don’t know. I didn’t see anyone. Anyway, something was different after that. I was different."

 

"Is that when you changed your name?" Fraser asked quietly.

 

"Yeah, how’d you know?"

 

"People often do it when they feel they’ve undergone a significant transformation. In some cultures, it’s quite customary to have several different names over a lifetime."

 

"Huh," Ray said. "Yeah, maybe that’s it. I just knew I didn’t feel like a Stanley anymore, and the next morning, I told my parents to call me Ray instead. My dad gave me kind of a funny look, like he knew there was more to it, but then he was the one who...you know, who maybe got stopped by an angel from hitting me. He never called me Stanley again, even though the name was his idea. Never hit me again, either.

 

"My mom, she never hit me. She don’t always remember to call me Ray. I think she kind of wants to hold on to her baby, if that makes any sense."

 

"Perfect sense, Ray," Fraser said, just as calm as before, but something had gone all dark and wounded in his eyes.

 

And Ray understood: Fraser didn’t usually get to hold on to the people he wanted to hold on to.

 

Ray gripped his arm. "No, Fraser. Don’t go there. Do not go there."

 

"How do you know what I—is that because you’re...?"

 

"No," Ray said. "It is because I am your partner and your friend and I know you. And you need to understand: people and angels and whoever else, we don’t understand why everything happens the way it does. It might’ve just been your dad’s time."

 

"I don’t think so," Fraser said. "I’ve never felt closure."

 

"Even though you got the killers?"

 

Fraser sighed. "There are still things I don’t understand, don’t remember. Such as how my mother died."

 

"Look, Fraser. I don’t know why their angels didn’t stop what happened to them. I’m not told that kind of thing unless I need to know. But I can tell you this: wherever they were, whatever was happening, they weren’t alone."

 

Fraser was thumbing his eyebrow really hard at that point, and when Ray glanced over, he saw that Fraser had his face turned away from Ray.

 

He held on to Fraser’s arm and gave him a minute.

 

"I’d like to believe that," Fraser said finally.

 

"Well, you can. That part I’m sure about."

 

"What are you not sure about?"

 

"Lots of stuff. Maybe most stuff. I told you, I can’t control this thing, and I don’t always know when it’s gonna kick in. If you throw me off a building, Fraser, I don’t know if the wings are gonna come out and save me or not. So maybe you could be a little careful when you throw me off of things, okay?"

 

"But aren’t you immortal?"

 

"I don’t think so," Ray said. "Not like you mean. I think I’ll die. Uh. Hopefully not soon."

 

"Hopefully not," Fraser said, and he sounded like he was gritting his teeth a little, like it hurt him to talk about the subject of Ray dying.

 

"I’m doing my best to stay alive and well here, Frase. Your cooperation would be, uh, would be appreciated."

 

"Of course Ray. I’d rather die myself than allow you to come to—"

 

Ray pressed a finger over Fraser’s lips. "I know, but don’t say it. I’ll do the jumping in front of bullets in this partnership. But only when I get the call."

 

"Is that what happened when you jumped in front of Greta Garbo’s bullet? Fraser asked. "Did you get the call then?"

 

"Nah, but I had a vest."

 

"It only covered part of you, Ray."

 

"Yeah, well. You had no vest at all. I had better odds."

 

"So you did actually risk your life then."

 

"Yeah."

 

"And you risked it for Father Adamczyk today, too." Fraser stroked the feathers closest to the bullet scar where the missing feather had come out. It tickled a little.

 

"Maybe," Ray said. "I don’t really know. Better odds, though, like with the vest. I got a lot of wing area, I folded them around my body, and luckily the bullet went in and struck bone and stopped. Losing the feather was just careless. I was a little freaked out."

 

"I can imagine." Fraser stroked Ray’s wing again. Delicious shivers went up Ray’s spine, and his eyes fluttered closed for a moment.

 

"Odd that a little hollow bone like this could stop a bullet," Fraser murmured, and Ray opened his eyes, because wow, Fraser just could _not _let anything go, could he? He had to dot the Is and cross the Ts or he was just never satisfied.

 

"Maybe it’s special bone, like you said the feather was different from bird feathers. Me, I don’t really know the difference, I just feel the difference. You want to, you can go over my angel body with your magnifying glass or whatever."

 

"Really, Ray?"

 

"Sure. They’re letting me tell you this much, then I got nothing more to hide. We’re a duet."

 

"Oh, Ray." Fraser had a half-hopeful, half-sad look on his face.

 

Ray shrugged. "If you gotta look me over now, Frase, then do it. Whatever you need."

 

Fraser sighed. "If you’re kind enough to assuage my curiosity about your wings, I’d be happy to look them over at another time, and thank you. For now, I just...there’s something I don’t understand, and I want to ask, but I don’t want to intrude, except..."

 

"Except how you kind of do?" Ray smiled. "It’s okay. I said I got nothing to hide, and I meant it. Shoot."

 

"How do you explain Stella?"

 

"Huh? What’s to explain?"

 

"Your issues with her. Your life with her, your separation from her."

 

Ray shrugged. "She didn’t know about this; I wasn’t allowed to tell her. I loved her. I made mistakes."

 

"I didn’t know angels made them."

 

Ray stared at him for a moment. "What’s the most important angel moment in history?"

 

Fraser blinked. "You mean in the Christian mythology?"

 

"Sure. Any mythology you like. Pick the one you know best."

 

"Michael, driving the humans out of paradise?" Fraser suggested.

 

"Yeah, you would think that. But, no."

 

"The angel staying Abraham’s hand from sacrificing his son?"

 

"Uh-uh."

 

"Gabriel, informing Mary that she will conceive..."

 

"Nope."

 

"All right then. What is it?"

 

"Sheesh, Frase, you can quote that Milton thing, but I gotta wonder if you ever heard the words. It’s Lucifer. You know—" he pointed up, swooped his finger down. "Guy made some big mistakes. Biggest ever."

 

Fraser had the queerest reaction then. He _blushed._ He swallowed hard and hung his head and his face was really hot, red like his uniform.

 

"Hey, it’s okay. It’s amazing you can quote one page of that stuff, much less the whole thing. Nobody’s expecting you to have the memory of a computer."

 

Fraser looked up, his face starting to clear. "Oh, it’s not that. It’s...ah, I, uh. The Fall from Grace is a...it’s a painful story, Ray." Ray could see instantly that it wasn’t just a story to Fraser. Ray couldn’t see the particulars, but he could sort of feel the pain in Fraser’s vibe. This was personal to him, real personal.

 

Then Ray flashed on something else, a set of images, one after the other, quick, but almost painfully clear: A dark-haired woman with a chilling smile. Fraser on a train platform in the snow, Ray Vecchio and some other officers leaning over him. Fraser in a confessional, asking absolution of a priest. Ray Vecchio in a church. Ray Vecchio in his bedroom at the house on Octavia, on his knees next to his bed, the sheets turned down, his watch and one phone number on his nightstand. No bag packed, because he was taking nothing with him. Vecchio, about to go undercover. On his knees. Praying, praying. _Please take care of Fraser. Don’t leave him alone. _

 

It was like Ray could see Vecchio’s thoughts: Vecchio’d never had a brother, but after Fraser came along it was like he did. A younger brother, a trouble magnet in a big red target of a suit.

 

And Ray understood why this had been shown to him now.

 

Realized _why_ he’d been Awakened and assigned to Fraser. And to Vecchio’s family, Vecchio’s job, but that was temporary. Fraser felt...permanent. If Ray could hack it. If Ray had strong enough shoulders.

 

He put his hand on Fraser’s shoulder, real gently. "Everybody makes mistakes," he said. "Not like, you know, Lucifer did, but...we all fall down sometime. You can’t expect perfection."

 

"Not even in an angel?"

 

"Nah, least of all angels." Ray smiled, and then dared to put his hand up to touch Fraser’s cheek. "Not humans, either. Not even you, Benton Fraser."

 

"Oh, I know. That I know." Fraser put his hand on Ray’s cheek, too, then, feeling the stubble that was still there, brushing his fingertips wonderingly over it. "You’re still Ray," Fraser said, like he was saying it to himself.

 

"Uh-huh, like I keep telling you. Ray with wings, but still Ray. Still the same damaged but not-stupid guy you know. And I’m still crazy about you, Frase. Want to be your partner. Want to be your _partner._ You want that?" The question of the ages, right there.

 

"I do, yes," Fraser said, and it sounded like a promise, like a _vow._

 

"Then I’m yours," Ray said. His heart felt like it had expanded, and everything in the room was shining back at him, and he couldn’t tone it down. "‘Cause I want that, too."

 

"May I kiss you now, Ray?"

 

"Oh, yeah."

 

Fraser reached for him, and Ray reeled him in close and wrapped his arms and then his wings around him. Fraser put his mouth on Ray’s, and his lips were incredibly soft, and sweeter than Ray had imagined. He’d done a lot of imagining, but the reality was so much better.

 

They kissed for a real long time, Fraser’s mouth opening hot and wet under Ray’s. Fraser’s tongue was strong and capable, and the thought of Fraser’s tongue on other parts of his body, either the regular or the angel version, made Ray’s knees weak.

 

It made other parts of him stand up firm, though. He pulled back, blushing, when his dick poked Fraser’s belly and left a wet smear on the serge.

 

"Oh, dear," Fraser said. "The uniform."

 

"Sorry." Ray made the problem disappear.

 

Fraser blinked, looking down at where his uniform looked perfectly clean again. "That’s efficient. Can you do that any time?"

 

"When I’m angeled out, yeah. Not normally. Normally that would be a dry-cleaning bill." He smiled kind of sheepishly. "Although If I hadn’t Changed for you, I would still have my clothes on and it would be my dry-cleaning bill."

 

"Er." Fraser got a thumb up to ruffle his eyebrow. "I realize we said we’d take this slowly, but...er. Are you uncomfortable?" He nodded in the general direction of Ray’s hard dick, which was now an inch away from the red serge, since Ray had angled his hips away a bit.

 

"Yeah, but I’ll survive. You?" Because even though Fraser still had all his clothes on, Ray had a feeling he was in a similar state.

 

"Likewise."

 

"You want to take it slow...later?" Ray said. "Faster now?"

 

"Yes," Fraser said. "If it’s permitted."

 

Ray grinned. "Sure is. You, partner, are my _partner. _It’s totally up to us."

Fraser licked his lips.

 

Ray was feeling a little dry-mouthed himself, his breath catching in his throat.

 

"Bedroom?" Fraser said.

 

"Yeah." So he tugged Fraser along behind him, and Fraser followed pretty quickly, considering he was suddenly getting the full back view of Ray’s wings, which Ray knew from craning his head around and looking in the mirror was pretty damn impressive.

 

Fraser got out of his red serge even faster than that time when he’d had Ray’s files hidden in his jodhpurs, and that was a pretty amazing transformation all by itself. When Fraser had everything off, he lost no time lying back on the bed and pulling Ray down on top of him, so Ray barely got a glimpse of his creamy soft skin, pink nipples, and handsome, thick cock. His face and chest were flushed darker with arousal, too.

 

Ray was afraid he’d be too heavy on Fraser, so he flapped his wings just a little bit, keeping them half closed and moving them just enough to lift some of his weight off.

 

Fraser looked troubled then, and he grabbed Ray by the shoulders and then reached for the shoulder joints of his wings, too, like he was trying to hold them closed.

 

"No, Frase, let me move them, I’m trying not to be so heavy on you," Ray said.

 

"Oh, Ray. Don’t fly away on me. I need..."

 

And Ray saw something then, he flashed on it quick—everyone that Fraser loved, leaving him. And he got it, saw what Fraser didn’t understand. "Nah, I’m here for the long haul," Ray said. "Look I got an idea." He braced himself on his knees and grabbed Fraser’s shoulders and tugged, and flipped them both over so he was on the bottom, his wings folded under him. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but his wings were so much stronger than the rest of him; he couldn’t injure them this way. Love would never, ever hurt them.

 

He flung his arms out above his wing-shoulders and pulled one of Fraser’s hands down to encircle his wrist, nodding for him to imprison the other as well.

 

"Oh," Fraser said. "Oh, you don’t have to.... Oh, Ray."

 

"Yeah," Ray said. "I think I do. You hold me down as hard as you need to, okay?"

 

"Ray!

"Do it. Hold me tight."

 

Fraser tightened his grip, and lay down on Ray carefully, pressing his cock down next to Ray’s, rubbing them together gently, then a little firmer, then firmer still, and it was all so beautiful.

 

Ray was delirious at the feeling. At some point his wings freed themselves from under him and they flapped some, but Fraser was holding him down hard, and rubbing down against him so perfectly, and if his wings made a breeze around them, neither one of them minded much.

 

Ray would take Fraser flying some time, because Fraser would love it, but here and now they were doing a different kind of flying together, and it didn’t need anything more to make it perfect—just him and Fraser together, him staying right where Fraser wanted him, needed him. Their cocks rubbing together, Fraser’s mouth on his, his tongue on Ray’s neck, on Ray’s nipples. Ray wrapped his legs around Fraser’s hips, holding Fraser to him even more firmly. Fraser thrust down on him, his hard cock sliding wetly in the hollow of Ray’s hip, his hard belly rubbing Ray’s cock in the same rhythm. They were together in this, completely in sync, and when Ray lost control and jetted warm fluid up against Fraser’s belly, Fraser spurted down onto Ray at the same moment, and they soared headlong into pleasure together.

 

Eventually, Fraser’s hands went slack on Ray’s wrists, but Ray didn’t move his hands right away. He stayed there as long as he could, and then when he had to move, he rolled over carefully so he was on top of Fraser, and he curled himself around Fraser, his wings making a shelter over both of them. And as he drifted off to sleep next to him, his wings stretched and flapped a little and lifted them up together, just a little, before settling them back on the soft bed.

 

Heaven, Ray thought as he drifted off. _This _was heaven, and he didn’t need to hear any stories about the realms of light, because he had his light right here. A guy like Fraser, a guy so beautiful in spirit that a pure soul had prayed for him even in his darkest hours, and Ray had been sent. Human, angelic, damaged, imperfect Ray, and his partner, Ben, equally imperfect, equally human, and plenty angelic himself. A perfect match.

 

 

******

 

Ray woke in his normal body, still cuddled against Fraser. Fraser woke up kind of slow, but Ray figured he was entitled. He’d had kind of a shock, after all, and even an extraordinary Mountie might need some time to absorb it.

 

But Fraser was a pretty quick study as usual. His eyes fluttered open and he smiled into Ray’s immediately. "Aren’t you an angel?"

 

"What?" said Ray, feigning surprise. "Strange dream you had there, Mountie."

 

Fraser skimmed his hand over Ray’s shoulder, stroked Ray’s tattoo with his fingertips. Ray twitched his arm just like he’d twitched his wing when Fraser tickled it.

 

"Beautiful dream," Fraser said. "It doesn’t have to be that way every time, does it? I mean with your wings?"

 

Ray smiled. "Nah. Benton Fraser, I can make love to you any way I am. Wings, no wings, it don’t matter. Like I said, I’m still the me you know."

 

"Always will be?"

 

"Yup. That okay?"

 

"It’s more than okay," Fraser said. "It’s perfect."

 

"Okay," Ray said. "So, like I been telling you all along, I ain’t Superman. I can fly sometimes, I admit, but right now I got to have some coffee or I’m going to be a sorry excuse for a police officer, let alone any kind of angel."

 

"I believe I remember how to work your coffeemaker," Fraser said.

 

"Good," Ray said. "Since hopefully you’re going to be waking up here a lot, that’s a skill that’s going to come in handy."

 

"I’m glad," Fraser said, and, boy, Ray’d seen some angelic smiles in his short lifetime, but he’d never seen one as beautiful as Benton Fraser’s at that moment.

 

 

 

*****

 

In the morning, they went into the station, and Ray got busy pulling up mugshots to take over to Father Adamczyk. A quick phone call had confirmed that the priest had been released from the hospital and was back at the church.

 

"Wouldn’t you recognize the shooter as well?" Fraser asked.

 

"Maybe, maybe not," Ray said. "Sometimes I’m kind of fuzzy on that stuff later. My angel job ain’t like the cop job. Justice isn’t part of my angel thing. I’m strictly a guardian. Anyway, how could I testify?"

 

"I see what you mean."

 

"So this kind of thing I gotta do as a cop without help from any angel stuff," Ray said. "Mountie magic, though, that I can use. So do your licking evidence thing and your magnifying glass thing and your logic thing all you want, and let’s get this one solved. Deal?"

 

Fraser smiled back at him. "Deal."

 

"So what’s your gut say about the perp—career bad guy, nutcase, or both?"

 

"Fallen sparrow," Fraser said.

 

Ray looked at him for a long moment. "Yeah, I get that. I don’t want him getting away with it, though."

 

"Whether he’s mentally ill or whether he’s fit to stand trial, he won’t get away with it. As you well know, ultimately no one gets away with anything."

 

Ray sighed. "Yeah. Okay." Because Fraser was right. Not one sparrow falls, and all that.

 

"I don’t understand why you had to get hurt into the bargain," Fraser said as they got into the GTO to head down to St. Stephen’s.

 

"What, that little scratch? One feather? It don’t hurt. It’s nothing."

 

"It’s clearly an injury," Fraser said.

 

"Well, it’ll heal up, don’t worry. Me, I think it was a gift."

 

"How so?"

 

"Because without it you might’ve believed I was something...untouchable," Ray said. "You’d have believed the immortality myth or that angels could be, I don’t know, some kind of perfect that don’t exist."

 

Fraser caught his breath. "I imagine perfection is overrated."

 

"Yeah," Ray laughed. "You come pretty damn close, Fraser, so I can see where that would bother you, but, yeah. It’s overrated."

 

"Oh, I don’t think I’m anywhere near perfect," Fraser said. "Nor ever have been."

 

Ray touched his face, his beautiful, imperfect, perfectly Fraser face. "Well, good, ‘cause I don’t want that and never did. I just want you, and what I always wanted was just...love. To love somebody, to be loved."

 

"Oh, you are, Ray. And you do."

 

*****

 

Later that evening, back at his apartment, Ray made the feather disappear from Evidence Lockup, and then he did something he’d never managed before, but which was a really neat trick—he made it appear again, in his hand, and he handed it to Fraser.

 

Fraser got up on Ray’s bed and tied it to the dreamcatcher next to the eagle feather, which looked kind of sad and shabby next to an angel’s feather, but there was no help for it. A bird wasn’t an angel and an angel wasn’t a bird.

 

Which Fraser helpfully pointed out, dotting his Is and crossing his Ts. For a change, that didn’t bother Ray a bit.

 

 

 

 

_—end—_

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Due South Seekrit Santa gift exchange, 2009.  
> Thanks and many, many hugs to my dear insta-beta and stalwart friend, Akamine_chan.


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